


oh, they're deep as oceans

by truthhurts (cicadas)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, Knife Play, M/M, Mental Instability, Sadism, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 00:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicadas/pseuds/truthhurts
Summary: Peter's been waiting to have Tony like this for a long time.





	oh, they're deep as oceans

**Author's Note:**

> this one's for all my nasty boys  
> (this is also a re-write of my fic 'notion' so if you've seen it before, its from me)

 

The blade eases into the wound like the skin is made of paper.

Blood seeps out around the knife, pooling at the serrated edges. It pumped out faster the first time he stabbed into this area, but he guesses the shock is trying to stop him from losing too much blood. Or maybe there's just less in him now.

He's so pretty.

He's so fucking pretty like this.

His arms are tied behind his back, two long strips of duct tape covering his mouth, little moans and huffs of air barely getting past it. He can hear them fine thanks to his heightened senses, but pretends he can't anyway. The pre-existing scars from the reactor, from working as a mechanic and from battles as Iron Man are beautiful - just like the rest of him - but what Peter's doing is a work of art.

 

His wrist flicks upward and the blade comes free, slicing into Tony's collarbone with the motion. Peter looks at the white of bone peeking out between the folds of open skin and muscle, briefly concerned, but it's short-lived.

New waves of blood spill down Tony's bare chest, coating him in a fresh bright red. Peter groans and runs his fingers up his stomach, to his sternum, and finally hooks his fingers into the wound, pulling the skin apart once more to watch the liquid seep out of Tony and onto himself.  _Beautiful.  
_The sounds he was making were even better, little whines and high-pitches cries trying to emerge through the tape, the pained sounds like heaven to Peter. He revels in the way the man's voice broke and hitched in his throat when he curled his fingers, digging his half-moon nails into fresh flesh and tissue.

Peter straddles Tony's thighs, breath coming in pants as he tries to work himself forward, tries to get some friction by rubbing himself up against Tony's abs. Fuck, he's so pretty. So fucking pretty, bleeding just for him,  _because_  of him.  
He looks into Tony's eyes and moves faster, moaning at the sound of the man trying to struggle against the ties on his wrist, trying to form words around the gag in his mouth.

Peter wants to crawl inside his wounds and fucking  _breathe_  him.

 

The taste of blood is on his tongue from when he licked into the now-healed gash on Tony's shoulder. It was a quick cut, but a deep one. Blood poured soft and fast, a steady stream of red over his irritated skin, and Peter had leant forward without even thinking to chase it up to the source, lips and teeth working against the wound until Tony flinched away from his mouth, muffled whines caught in his throat.

He debates spitting the mixed fluids from his mouth onto Tony's face, but instead he swallows, cock twitching at the thought of Tony's blood mingling with his own inside him. He rocks forward, pressing his cheek flush with Tony's own, and huffs out hot air onto his skin.

 

"You're beautiful like this, Tony. Unh,  _fuck._ You're beautiful all the time, but now? Fuck, baby, you're killing me." Peter grunts into Tony's ear. Something close to a whine emerges from Tony in response, and Peter keens at the sound. "Been watching you for so long, wanting to have you like this, tied up, all for me, bleeding for me- fuck, you're so generous, sweet thing, giving me all of you,"

There's a wet line running down from the corner of his eye that Peter leans forward to lick up. His mouth grazes over a rough patch on Tony's cheekbone, and he feels the damaged skin split apart under his pressing tongue. The taste of copper mixes in with salt and spit.  
He can't get any friction this way, so he opts for dropping the smaller pocket-knife onto the concrete and running his hand through the blood pooled at Tony's belly. The liquid stains his jeans as he pushes the fabric down as best he can without standing up fully.

He's rough with himself once he finally gets a hand on his cock, jerking himself with short strokes, leaning forward just enough that the head bumps into Tony's abdomen and the slick covering it.

"Fuck, Tony, fuck," Peter bites the juncture of Tony's neck and shoulder, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to make Tony jerk away in pain, complaints muffled by his makeshift gag.

Peter feels the weight of the knife in his other hand, buzzing there like it's alive, so he brings it up and rests it against Tony's neck.

For the first time since he tied him up - since the drug faded and he came fully to his senses - Tony freezes. Peter looks up, meets his eyes, and hesitates.

He's scared.

 

And fuck, if that isn't more of a turn-on than any of this has been.

Pete doesn't move the knife, but he doesn't take it away either. Instead, he jerks himself faster, hips thrusting up to meet his hand, mouth hanging slack. He's so close, gripping his cock harder so it hurts, hurts just enough for him to come like this.

He grips the handle of the knife equally as hard, and he must have pressed it closer and closer to Tony's throat because Tony is shaking his head, nicking his skin on the blade in the process, eyes wide and pleading. Peter shivered. He could move his arm and that'd be it; blood would spurt onto his face, hot and warm, and Tony's head would loll back, powerless to stop the gash through his windpipe or the blood loss from killing him as his arms flailed behind him, trying to get free. Fuck, that'd be a sight. He could do it so easily. The man - well-built and strong - was completely incapacitated. Thanks to thick rope and a simple injection and 180 pounds sitting on his lap. _  
_

Peter pauses, looking hard into the man's eyes - wide and brown and _terrified._

He takes a moment, then rips off the duct tape in one sharp pull.

Peter wipes the spit from his chin and surges forward to kiss Tony's mouth before he can take a breath, biting his lips with sharp teeth and licking into his mouth, sucking on his tongue eagerly. It's not as sweet as the heat and tanginess of fresh blood, but it's something that's coming from inside his love, so he swallows it down, imagining that mouth and those perfect teeth around his cock, sucking, biting, chewing, eating him up so they'd soon be whole - one and the same.

When he pulls away, Tony's lips look wet and sore, his face red and eyes wide.

 

His lover's mouth opens as if he's going to speak - scream, hopefully - but Peter doesn't want to ruin the delicious moment he's built up, so he presses the knife in hard as a warning. Tony swallows. The metal bumps as the spit goes down.

Knuckles white and a new cut forming around the blade of Tony's neck, Peter moves his attention back to his cock, still hard and slick in his hand. He grips himself harder, squeezing at the head painfully, skin dragging with each movement of his hand. He spits absently down at his own crotch, feeling the cold fluid slide over his fingers.  
His love, his only love, locks eyes with him, and the fear in his eyes is such a treat, spurring him on, wrist tugging at himself - he's so beautiful, fuck, he's so amazing, tied and hopeless and _all his_.

Peter leans forward and sucks at the wound on Tony's collarbone, drinking down the blood as it fills his mouth, slightly colder than before but still as tasty - nectar of the gods, coming straight from his love's broken body.  


Peter leans over Tony's shoulder and looks down at his wrists, heavily knotted together and tied to the back of the chair with his favourite kind of rope - nylon, thin, doesn't burn the skin too badly.

He looks at the parted skin, the red covering Tony's bare chest, the stains on his skin and the knife against his throat.

_Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful._

 

"Peter-" Tony's voice reverbs through the metal of the knife, and Peter looks up, hazy and sated, at the man who seems to have found his voice. "Please, let me go- You're done, I'm, I won't say anything-"

Peter drags the knife along his neck, releasing some pressure so he doesn't cut too deep just yet. "Then don't say anything,"

It's then that he looks down at the blotched stains on Tony's jeans, at the places where the blue denim is still visible, and suddenly all he wants is to have it gone, for there to be nothing clean left-- to have Tony soaked in blood.

"I love you so much, Tony," He says, eyes watching him adoringly, "I hope you know that,"

Peter slides the knife over the man's throat as easily as putting it through warm butter.

Tony's head falls back, and the blood sprays.

Blood erupts into his face, his hair, covering him, coming in short spurts as his heart pumps it through his arteries. Peter groans, breathing picking up, the gurgling sound of Tony's breathing cutting off, filling with fluid, going straight to his cock. It doesn't take long to bring him to the edge.

Peter comes forcefully against the man's firm chest, come and blood mixing to make new artwork on his body.

He keeps fondling himself through the tremors of his orgasm, to the point of overstimulation. He doesn’t want it to end, yet. Wants to be in this moment, feeling this exact feeling forever. Peter sighs as he pulls his hand away, forehead pressed against the wounds on Tony’s shoulder.

 

He looks up eventually, eyes glassy, and smiles at the gaping wound in the corpse's neck. The head has rolled back, the cut going completely through the oesophagus and muscle, blue arteries clearly visible in the mess of sinew and blood.

He sits back, raking his eyes over the man.

Beautiful. He's so, so beautiful like this.

"Give me a minute, Tony, and we can play again," Peter whispers.

He grips the knife a little tighter against his palm. There's still so much fun left to have together.

 

 

 


End file.
